


A Coward's War

by flibbertygigget



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1980s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cold War, Espionage, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Referenced Time War (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: 1985. In the midst of political tensions Magical and Muggle, Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart is called out of retirement. UNIT has found evidence of aliens in Berlin, and the only operative who can prevent a Dark uprising backed by futuristic technology is former Death Eater and current spy Severus Snape. This might get complicated.
Relationships: Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart & Severus Snape, Twelfth Doctor & Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 16
Collections: Snape Bigbang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Snape Bigbang 2020. The art is by the wonderful [Tehriel](https://tehriel.tumblr.com/).

Art by [Tehriel](https://tehriel.tumblr.com/).  


* * *

_ Courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway. _ _  
_ _ \- The Third Doctor, " _ _ Planet of the Daleks" _

**14 April 1985, Downing Street, London**

Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was technically not supposed to be in this room.

First of all, he was retired. He had repeatedly and adamantly reminded MI-5, MI-6, and UNIT itself that he was very much retired. He had even reminded Brigadier Winifred Bambera that since his retirement he was, technically speaking, not supposed to be privy to the highest level of state and international secrets, including the existence of extra-normal beings. Bambera had told him to shut up and report to Downing Street as requested.

There were only five British officials authorized to know about  _ these _ particular extra-normal beings. Brigadier Bambera, of course, as head of the British branch of UNIT, Christopher Curwen, Chief of MI-6, Antony Duff, the new Director General of MI-5, the Prime Minister, and the Queen herself. Only the first three were present, the current meeting being a matter of, he had been told, securing future intelligence rather than any immediate national security concern. That Sir Alistair had knowledge about the so-called Magical World at all was only due to his previous position in UNIT, and he knew that none of those in the room besides Brigadier Bambera were half pleased with his intrusion.

Well, they were just going to have to deal with it. He may have not been happy with being pulled away from his sea-side retirement, but he had to admit that he was damn curious about what those wizards were up to now. His last few years with UNIT had been punctuated with many meetings, both with the Magical beings and without them, about what he and his fellow officers had termed, with grim humor, the [Redacted] Affair. Apparently the extra-normals had been having a bloody civil war, and half the time it seemed to be UNIT mopping things up when it spilled over into their world. It was frustrating as hell and, along with the Doctor leaving for good, had been half the reason he had retired.

Sir Alistair was shaken from his thoughts by the familiar whoosh of the fireplace that deposited two men onto the hearth. Antony Duff jumped a little, so obviously the greenest of the four of them, though Curwen, as well, looked distinctly uneasy. In an instant he could see why Brigadier Bambera had been so insistent about bringing him in, even if they were breaking all sorts of protocols in the process. 

“Ah, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. It has been quite a long time, hasn’t it?” Sir Alistair fixed Albus Dumbledore with his most measuring look as he shook his hand. He had always been exceedingly wary of the old wizard. To get so far in their overlapping professions with a twinkle in your eye proved that you were a very dangerous man. 

“Not Brigadier anymore, though the nickname has stuck somewhat,” he said. “I retired.” He quickly introduced Brigadier Bambera, Duff, and Curwen. While Dumbledore set about shaking hands and generally being disarmingly charming, Sir Alistair turned his attention to the other man who had arrived. He was a sharp contrast to Dumbledore in every way: young, dark-haired, dressed in a suit rather than wizard robes, and wearing a deep frown. He was a far better fit for the intelligence mold, and the way he returned Sir Alistair’s gaze with an assessing scan of his own only confirmed that suspicion. 

“And may I introduce my friend, Severus Snape,” Dumbledore said, cutting in. Snape nodded at the room, but he made no move to shake any hands or indeed speak at all. “He was one of our most important intelligence operatives during the war.”

“You can say I was a spy,” Snape said, his voice a deep, sarcastic drawl. “Saying that I was an intelligence operative makes it sound so official.”

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snape," Sir Alistair cut in, uninterested in getting all of them off on the wrong foot with, he suspected, the man who was the most involved with whatever Bambera thought she needed his expertise on. Snape nodded again, at him in particular this time, and sat in a chair in the corner of the room, staring out the window as though waiting for something.

It was then that Dumbledore gave them the rundown of the state of affairs in the Magical world. Sir Alistair let his mind wander slightly - the situation didn’t seem to have changed particularly much since his retirement. When Curwen and Duff stood to do another round of shaking hands and Snape didn’t so much as shift his eyes from the outside, they only confirmed Sir Alistair’s suspicion that Brigadier Bambera had asked him to come for a reason that had nothing to do with British national security and everything to do with, well, UNIT. 

As soon as the heads of MI-5 and MI-6 had left, Snape turned his head languidly, gaze sharpening into military attention. “Well,” he said, “now that the pleasantries are over, might we get on with it?”

“There’s no need to rush, Severus,” said Dumbledore. He had taken a seat for the first time that evening and was unwrapping a sweet that he’d had secreted in his pocket.

“Perhaps not for you, Headmaster. I, on the other hand, have marking to do.” So Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts then, in addition to being a spy.

“This won’t take long,” Brigadier Bambera said, “though I’m afraid it’s because there’s precious little to tell. We received a tip from one of our top operatives that a hostile alien force has recently taken an interest in your people’s extra-normal abilities.”

“Which operative? The Doctor?” asked Sir Alistair. Brigadier Bambera shook her head.

“We haven’t heard from him since he left in ‘76. That’s why I wanted you here, Sir Alistair. Without the intelligence he could have provided, you’re our best bet at identifying whatever aliens have decided to make the Magical World their business.”

“And what role am I to play in your operation?” said Snape. “Is there any reason why you requested that the Headmaster bring along a spy for you?”

“We don’t currently have many operatives in your world, especially not ones well-placed to run this mission. Our operative indicated that this alien force was recruiting in the Magical community somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

"Naturally," Snape said.

"You'll take the mission then?" asked Bambera. Snape's long, stained fingers came up and stroked his chin.

"That very much depends," he said, "on what information you are willing to give me about these… aliens."

"Surely you can see that this is a matter of international - no, of  _ interplanetary  _ security," Bambera said.

"Of course I can see that," Snape snapped. "The importance of the mission matters little, however, if I wind up dead because of your stinginess.”

“You will have the support you require-”

“Muggles,” Snape said, “have little to offer in way of support in these cases. I would prefer, Brigadier, if you would offer  _ information _ .”

“I’ll brief him, Bambera,” Sir Alistair said suddenly. “Just give me the files.” Snape was staring at him, looking nonplussed. Really, Sir Alistair didn’t know why he had volunteered for what would be a routine but stressful task. Working with outside operatives was always stressful when it came to UNIT, whether they came from the British government or other, less ordinary sources, and if he wasn’t mistaken Snape seemed to be more difficult than most.

At least, he reflected, there wouldn’t be the usual argument over the existence of extra-normal beings. Wizards were extra-normal enough to stop any of that.

“Fine,” Snape said at last. “Headmaster, out. You too, Brigadier.” To Sir Alistair’s surprise, Dumbledore simply nodded, disappearing back through the fireplace in a rush of green flames. Brigadier Bambera seemed more reluctant, but she also ultimately left, though not before giving Sir Alistair a hard look. Snape was up from his seat almost immediately, muttering as he waved his wand around the corners of the room.

“Oh, do sit down,” Sir Alistair said. Snape gave him a dour look before obeying.

“No bugs,” he said, “Muggle or Magical. We’ll be as safe as these things ever are.” He leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Now, what is all this about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sir Alistair said. “I believe, however, that the files Brigadier Bambera left behind will be enlightening.” Snape reached out and began to read the files, the line between his eyebrows growing deeper and his lips growing thinner the longer he read.

“This,” he said when he had finished reading, “is just about as bad as could be expected.”

“Well?”

“I thought you were supposed to be briefing me.”

“I’m used to being at the mercy of supposed subordinates with more intel than I could dream of,” Sir Alistair said. “Brief me.”

“Under the usual circumstances, this would hardly be a concern,” Snape said. “The Magical world tends to keep to itself, especially since the Magical empires collapsed after World War II, and the prejudice against non-humans by the majority of our governments would make an alliance with aliens an unpopular proposition. Unfortunately, the recent war involved a large amount of support for the Dark Lord’s side from certain groups in Eastern Europe.”

“Care to explain why?”

“Do you know the Muggle history of the Eastern Europe since World War I?” Sir Alistair grimaced. There were  _ reasons _ he had been happy to be relegated to extra-normal task forces. Snape settled back in his chair. “Well,” he said, “Magical history there is, if anything, more complicated. While the Ottoman Empire began to decline in the mid- to late-19th century for Muggles, the Ottoman Empire of Magicals remained at its pre-Statute of Secrecy boundaries - that is, its boundaries before 1692 - until after World War II, mostly due to the Non-Affiliation Declaration the OEM pushed through the International Confederation of Wizards shortly after bits of the Muggle Ottoman Empire started buggering off in earnest. The Non-Affiliation Declaration, in short, said that changes in Muggle political systems, alliances, and boundaries would not affect Magical countries and governments.

“The World Wars, obviously, made this more difficult, since different Muggle portions of the OEM fought on different sides in both those wars and the Magicals in the OEM felt little attachment to the old Magical empire. The fact that certain segments of the OEM were being educated at different schools made things even more complicated. How aware are you of the political implications of the different Magical schooling systems?”

“Not aware at all,” Sir Alistair said. “I only know what I was briefed on as the head of UNIT in the UK.” Snape ran a hand through his hair.

“Bloody dunderheaded sons of-” He cut himself off. “Fine, short version. There are a multitude of Magical schools, each with a long and not always proud history. Hogwarts is one of the oldest in Europe, but it isn’t particularly relevant for this conversation. The main schools that Eastern Europe divides itself between to this day are the Ottoman House of Magic in Alexandria, Koldovstroretz on the Russian island of Novaya Zemlya, and Durmstrang Institute in northern Scandinavia. Because of how few of us there are, Magical schools are what might seem oddly important, politically speaking. 

“That was half the trouble with the OEM, actually. Witches and wizards were being sent to Koldovstroretz if they spoke Slavic languages and Durmstrang if they spoke Germanic languages, and the end result was that, while the Ottoman House of Magic was a large and respected institution, it only educated a fraction of the OEM, and they were often the elites. While the OEM chose to stay out of the Muggle World Wars, much of their European population didn’t see that as much of an option, not when they were in the middle of the Eastern Front. 

“There was a concurrent Magical war during World War II that ended up being what broke the OEM, Grindelwald’s War. Grindelwald was from Austria, which was still under OEM control at the time, and he had been sent to Durmstrang as was usual in spite of the OEM crackdown on international schooling. Now, Durmstrang has a long history of being more… tolerant of teaching the Dark Arts. Grindelwald was angry about the OEM refusing to get involved in World War II, which resulted in massive casualties in the Magical community and especially the large Jewish and Romani populations, and he saw the Non-Affiliation Declaration, the International Confederation of Wizards, and the Statute of Secrecy itself as the cause.

“Now, I’m not saying that Grindelwald was any type of hero. Those who became part of the Greater Good Revolution, as they called it, treated anyone who was against them horrifically. They used Dark Magic in unspeakable ways, and their ultimate goal was not to simply revolutionize or replace the international regulatory bodies of the Magical world, which was fair enough, but to overthrow them and establish Magical control over the Muggle world. That being said, Grindelwald’s War did manage to expose the cracks in the Non-Affiliation Declaration, and after his surrender and imprisonment it was struck from the books for good.”

“And what,” asked Sir Alistair, “does any of this have to do with the aliens that are currently attempting to use your people’s extra-normal abilities?”

“Due to the unrest in the Magical governance of the various bits of Eastern Europe that, as you might imagine, continues to be a problem to this day, as well as Grindelwald’s polarizing legacy, there was a large conjugate of Eastern European expats living in Britain who sided with the Dark Lord in the Death Eater War, most of whom had been educated at Durmstrang. The majority of them fled this country when the Dark Lord fell, and it is among that population that I believe these aliens are likely recruiting. They are often unhappy with the governance of the various countries of Eastern Europe, which has consisted almost solely of anti-Grindelwald, anti-Dark, and pro-Statute of Secrecy republics and oligarchies since the end of Grindelwald’s War. It’s preferred that way by the International Confederation, for obvious reasons.”

“What about the Soviet Union?”

“What about it? The end of the Non-Affiliation Declaration does not mean that Magical governance blindly follows Muggle, and a good thing too. That being said, there are several Magical nations that have adopted some form of Marxism or communism, mostly in the Balkans. Magical Bulgaria, in particular, was a region that was almost entirely against Grindelwald during that war, and I’ve heard that they have a much closer relationship with the Muggles of that region than most Western European Magical nations. They seem to be doing quite well with communism, though I expect it’s easier when you can use magic.”

“Oh,” said Sir Alistair. He knew he didn’t quite have his mind wrapped around everything, but he had the basics down. “Well then, what do you see as your way forward?” Snape hummed slightly.

“I can begin to lay the groundwork during the next month and a half, though I won’t be able to begin working on this full-time until the end of term,” he said. “I have several contacts who I know fled East after the war. I can begin with them.”

“And after that?”

“If they can’t give me what I need, I’m going to have to get creative,” Snape said with an almost feral grin.

“Very well,” Sir Alistair said, feeling more like the Brig than he had since his retirement. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate to contact me, Snape. You may not believe it, but I’ve had more than a little experience dealing with extra-normal hostiles.”

“The key to being a spy is to  _ not _ think of them as hostiles,” Snape said. “Besides, there is very little a Muggle can do in a situation like this, not when going up against this sort of Magical.”

“All the same,” Sir Alistair said. “You have my support, Snape, in whatever form you might need. Just because I don’t have magic doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing what I can.”

“I can see that very well,” said Snape with a grimace. Sir Alistair had to wonder what had happened to the man to cause that reaction.

**10 June 1985, Unknown Magical Location**

Sir Alistair didn’t hear from the Magicals for almost two months. In fact, he had begun to assume that his role in this affair had finished. When a large brown owl flew through his open window and began to peck at his hand, however, he couldn’t deny the thrill that went through him. He brought out his service pistol from where he had hidden it in his pantry, read the letter two times more, and immediately began to drive to the train station where Dumbledore had said a contact would be sent to meet him.

If Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart could help defend the Earth once again, by God he would be ready to go into the breach.

Sir Alistair wasn't surprised when it was Snape who met him at the station. The wizard was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, blending in completely. When Sir Alistair tried to engage him in conversation, Snape gave him a thin-lipped glower.

"Not here," he said. He gestured for Sir Alistair to follow him into the gap between two buildings. “Now, you will need to hold onto my arm.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take us somewhere we can talk,” Snape said.

“Very well.”

“I would suggest that you close your eyes.” Sir Alistair obeyed. There was a loud  _ crack _ and the feeling of being under some enormous pressure from all sides, and then the smell of a wood fire and beer and pub food hit him. He opened his eyes and his suspicions were confirmed. Snape had brought him to a pub, and if it wasn’t for the fact that pints and plates were floating across the dining room it would have looked completely ordinary. 

“Where are we?” he asked.

“That’s confidential,” Snape said with a smirk that told Sir Alistair that it was anything but. Still, if the spy wanted to play this game…

“I see,” he said. “And I suppose you trust the people in this rather crowded room to keep whatever we speak of secret.”

“Of course not,” Snape said. “I booked a room.” Sir Alistair followed him up the rickety stairs to the door past the landing and sat patiently on the bed while Snape performed whatever spells he felt the need to.

“Well?” Sir Alistair said at last when Snape had finished and sat in the only chair in the room.

“The term finished last week,” Snape said. “I’ve been in contact with one of my… colleagues. He teaches at Durmstrang, but when I met him he was living in London.”

“One of those Eastern expats you said took You-Know-Who’s side, then?”

“Precisely.” Snape paused. On his right hand, his thumb and two fingers rubbed together, as though he was craving a cigarette or his wand. Somehow, Sir Alistair had never imagined Magicals faffing about with anything so normal as cigarettes. It made Snape seem a little more human. “I don’t foresee it being particularly dangerous, as far as these things go. I certainly won’t be in any danger.”

“You’ll still want a gun watching your back.” Snape’s lips thinned.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Why did you call me here then?”

“You seemed to have concerned yourself with the situation,” he said. “I wanted to make sure that you knew it was being handled.”

“Is that all?”

“Does there have to be anything else?” Snape snapped. Sir Alistair shook his head. Snape had gone from cool and collected to defensive in seconds, and he had worked with too many young men who felt they had something to prove to not recognize the signs.

“Of course not,” Sir Alistair said, “but I don’t believe that you’re the sort of man who would call me all the way out here and go into all this trouble unless there was some deeper goal than simply reassuring an old Muggle. A simple owl could have done that.” Snape was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire.

“You said that you have experience with aliens?” he said.

“You know I do. That was UNIT’s original purpose when I founded it, after all.”

“I do not,” Snape said. “It occurs to me, Sir Alistair, that it would be opening myself to a hideous disadvantage if I did not acquaint myself with every resource available.”

“We are already acquainted, Mr. Snape,” Sir Alistair said, “and I have told you multiple times that I would be willing to be more actively involved in this mission.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, but he still seemed hesitant. Sir Alistair cast his mind back to everything he knew about this mission, about the Magical world, about Snape’s place within both.

“I have limited experience within your world, I know,” he said carefully, “and I wouldn’t blame you for seeing that as something of a liability. But all the same, I hope you decide to take me up on my offer, Snape. I doubt that a spot of Dark Magic can have anything on dinosaurs or Daleks.”

“Dinosaurs? Really?” said Snape dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised at what UNIT can hush up,” Sir Alistair said. 

“Evidently,” said Snape. 

“So, what do you say? Care to bring a retired old coot on your paramount spy mission?”

“I want you to know that I had and continue to have my reservations,” Snape said. “Still, it would be prudent, I believe, to have an expert on alien lifeforms on hand.”

“Capital,” said Sir Alistair. “When do we begin?”

“I will be visiting that old colleague of mine this Saturday,” said Snape. “The rest, I believe, will come naturally.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Never be cruel, never be cowardly, and never ever eat pears.  _ _   
_ _ \- The Twelfth Doctor, " _ _ Twice Upon A Time" _

**15 June 1985, Durmstrang Institute**

Severus Snape took a deep breath after Appartating in the Durmstrang Visitor’s Hall, letting the cooler Scandinavian air refresh his ravaged lungs. He wasn’t sure what had been the last straw, the more dangerous potions that the Dark Lord had required or the sheer volume of brewing he had to do for Hogwarts, but he knew that somewhere along the line his lungs had been horribly weakened. A strict potions regimen helped, but he knew that the damage was enough that, should he somehow avoid being killed for his spywork, his life expectancy was still appallingly short for a wizard. 

The Muggle had let go of his arm and was looking around, a cautiously inquisitive expression on his face. Snape still saw no real reason for the Muggle to be here, but he was glad that Sir Alistair didn’t seem overwhelmed by either the obvious magic or the sheer grandeur Durmstrang put on as a first impression for visitors. Severus had been here often enough, maintaining his relationship with Karkaroff both as a fellow teacher and as a double agent. It was convenient, to say the least. He could only hope that the old bastard would know something useful, since his contacts in the East besides Karkaroff tended towards the less reputable and therefore less useful in this particular case.

“Master Karkaroff will see you, sirs,” said a House Elf who had silently appeared in the door leading to the rest of Durmstrang.

“Thank you, Skogs,” Severus said. “You are dismissed.” He led Sir Alistair up the staircase to where he knew Igor Karkaroff’s office was. 

“What was that?” the Muggle muttered to him.

“A House Elf,” Severus said. “Magical slaves, not that you’d hear many humans admit that.” Sir Alistair looked disgusted. “I told you that relations between human and non-human Magicals are strained at best. I don’t need to tell you what they are like at worst.”

“The aliens will likely be able to pass as human, then,” Sir Alistair said. Severus nodded. The Muggle caught on quickly at least. There were worse people to be forced to partner with.

“Severus,” Karkaroff said warmly, getting up from behind his desk and shaking Severus’s hand. “I did not expect you so soon.”

“I believe I told you to expect me,” Severus said. 

“Yes, yes,” Karkaroff said impatiently, “but there are many things that can prevent our meetings, in spite of all our best intentions.” He looked over at Sir Alistair. “And this is…”

“Gordon Stewart,” Severus said, using the slightly modified name that they had agreed would be enough to obscure any Muggle connections. “He is from a minor Magical family. They were neutral in the last war, but he has heard rumors of progress being made in the East again, as have I.”

“Progress abroad is sometimes more comforting than progress at home,” Karkaroff said bitterly, but there was nothing to help that. 

“You have little room to judge him, Igor,” Severus said lightly. “I haven’t forgotten the names you gave in securing your own… progress.” Karkaroff looked as though he wanted to bite Severus’s head off, but the point had been made. “Water under the bridge, Igor. We’re here for a reason.”

“Of course you are,” Karkaroff grumbled. “You always are.”

“For a better reason than we have had reason to hope for as of late,” Severus said. “I said that I had heard rumors, Igor, and I intend to know if they are true.”

“What rumors?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Severus said. “There is someone recruiting among our former compatriots. It is true, is it not?” Karkaroff’s lips thinned.

“It is,” he said reluctantly. Sir Alistair leaned forward in his seat.

“And?” the Muggle said, layers of meaning in that one word. He was playing the part they’d arranged better than Severus had expected. Eagerness, slight guilt for sitting out the last war, determination not to be left out of this one. 

“It isn’t the sort of thing someone like  _ you _ would be involved with,” Karkaroff spat. Then he looked to Severus. “Nor you, I think. I certainly have stayed as far away from it all as I can.”

“Why?” Severus said. “I have heard that they have been quite successful recruiting from among the werewolves-”

“Bah! Werewolves! What do animals like that have to lose?”

“What do we have to lose, with the Dark Lord dead?” It was laying it on a bit thick, really, but Karkaroff was a bit thick himself.

“You and I both managed to get out with our skins, Severus. Pardon me if I don’t want to throw that away.”

“You misunderstand me, Igor. I’m not the one interested in joining a Dark rebellion. I would rather not bite the hand that feeds me - or that kept me from Azkaban. Not openly, anyhow.”

“I have my doubts over whether this is a Dark rebellion at all,” Karkaroff said. Severus raised an eyebrow.

“But the rumors said-”

“The rumors were  _ rumors _ . Whoever is involved is Dark, certainly, but they’re more likely to use you in a ritual than allow you to see the chains of tyranny broken.” Severus let the shock he truly felt bleed into his face. This had not been in any of the files Brigadier Bambera had given him. 

“What do you mean?” he said. Karkaroff squirmed under his gaze.

“You have to understand, Severus, it’s not as though they’ll be missed. They haven’t gotten any of the  _ real _ Death Eaters. There has been talk of discovering the purpose of this new Dark brotherhood, but anyone with any sense has decided to leave them well enough alone.” Severus had never been more glad that he’d spent the last four years carefully crafting a narrative that would allow him to be the sort of person who would become angry at Igor.

“Am I right in understanding,” he said icily, “that this new… faction is being connected to disappearances from among our former allies?”

“They’re not ICW or from your Ministry-”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Severus said. 

“The only Magicals stupid enough to believe them are the werewolves and the crazies. They think that another Dark faction can rise so soon after your country put us down, and  _ nobody _ is so deluded as to think-”

“I think, Igor,” Severus said delicately, “that you ought to stop babbling and give me something useful to work with.” Karkaroff’s mouth gaped.

“You can’t be serious!” he said. “If this new group doesn’t kill you, the ICW stooges will!”

“You’re telling me that our old friends have been disappearing. You’re telling me that you think them  _ dead _ , and yet you have done nothing, alerted no one.” Severus’s lip curled in a disgust he didn’t have to pretend to feel. “I knew you were a rat, but I didn’t think you were such a coward.”

“As though you have room to speak,” Karkaroff spat. “You slithered away as you always do, safe under the auspices of the  _ great  _ Dumbledore-”

“You forget yourself, Karkaroff,” Severus said. “I have maintained my position, yes, but I have never betrayed my fellow Death Eaters to the Ministry.”

“That we know of,” Karkaroff said. “I suspect that you have whispered more than one name in Dumbledore’s ear.”

“And yet only one of us avoided Azkaban by betraying the Dark Lord in front of all the world,” Severus said, “and only one of us is attempting to discover the reason for our old friends’ disappearances.” For a moment Severus thought that he had miscalculated, that Karkaroff would see him as a betrayer rather than a loyalist. But then Karkaroff sighed.

“Christoph Rompe,” he said, not meeting Severus’s eyes. “He owns a pub in Berlin, and he deals in Dark runestones on the side. He’s the one the rumors come from. He’ll point you right.”

“Was he one of the Dark Lord’s followers?”

“He’s never left Germany,” Karkaroff said, “not that I know of anyways. But he’s known among our sort.”

“Very well,” Severus said. “I shall remember your help and your… loyalty, Igor, in the event that we are called together again.” Not even an idiot could have mistaken the threat. In Karkaroff’s mind, he had lost standing with a former Death Eater whose advantageous position for the Dark Lord had remained unchanged after the collapse of the Death Eaters. It was as good a position as Severus could have expected to leave himself in.

He could only hope that the advantage he had gained here wouldn’t come to bite him later.

When he and Sir Alistair had gone back to the room they had rented in a nearby Magical community, Severus was ready for the Muggle to order a debriefing, but Sir Alistair was strangely quiet for what he had just heard.

“We will Floo to the German Ministry’s international intake tomorrow,” Severus said as casually as he could manage. “What sort of plans do you think these aliens could have? Unless, of course, the Dark rituals seem more likely-”

“How truthful were you with Karkaroff?” Sir Alistair interrupted. 

“Not overly,” Severus said. “I betrayed plenty of the Dark Lord’s followers to Dumbledore, and therefore to the Ministry. I won’t deny, however, that I am… anxious to discover what your aliens have been doing to the Magicals they have been targeting.”

“Not my aliens,” Sir Alistair said. “So you really do have some skin in the game, beyond your role as Dumbledore’s chosen spy?”

“Believe me, Dumbledore wouldn’t have chosen me if he had better options at the time,” Severus said. “And these aliens or Dark Magicals or  _ whatever _ they are, you heard what kind of Magical Karkaroff said they were targeting. Werewolves and crazies.”

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?”

“I have no lost love for either category,” Severus said dryly, “but the fact remains that they are the sort that won’t be missed, not by the governments, not by the former Death Eaters. If UNIT hadn’t picked up on these aliens, there’s no telling how far this might have gone.”

“You think that Professor Karkaroff was right, then? You think that the disappearances are murders?”

“I think,” Severus said, “that if they aren’t, they soon will be.”

**16 June 1985, Teufelstaten Club, Magical Berlin**

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when Severus and Sir Alistair Flooed to the German Ministry in Magical Berlin. Severus had always known that the political divisions of the Muggle world hadn’t affected Magical Germany in the wake of the last World War, but he could admit that he was surprised at how little the Berlin Wall seemed to impact the German Ministry. When he’d asked what to do if he found himself in the Muggle world on one side of the Wall or the other, they had looked at him blankly, as though the question was one that they had never had to consider before.

Severus had been born the same year the Wall had begun to be built, and for the first decade or so of his life he’d had far more connection to the Muggle world than the Magical one. It had no bearing on his current mission, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of adjustments non-purebloods would have to make in a country where the Magical and Muggle seemed even further apart than in Britain.

It was almost absurdly easy to find Christoph Rompe. The Teufelstaten Club wasn’t the Dark, dirty little secret it would have been in Britain, relegated to Knockturn Alley or one of the werewolf districts. Nor was Magical Berlin difficult to navigate from the international intake of the Ministry, which was located more or less in the center of the hidden world of German Magicals. A few casual questions and Severus was directed to a wide side street packed with restaurants and bars in the heart of Magical Berlin. If he’d been stupid enough to let his shock show on his face, he would have at least raised an eyebrow, but as it was he simply walked into the Teufelstaten Club with as much confidence as he could muster. Sir Alistair, as always, trailed behind him.

“Table or bar?” Sir Alistair muttered to him. 

“Bar,” Severus said, “obviously. We’re meant to make contact with Rompe, not scare him off by skulking in corners. Besides,” he glanced around at the sparse seating and large, scrobe-lit dance floor, “I don’t believe this is the sort of place where getting a table counts as being inconspicuous.”

“Right,” said Sir Alistair. To his credit, the Muggle seemed less off-balance than Severus felt. When Karkaroff had said Rompe owned a pub, Severus had pictured something like the Leaky Cauldron or perhaps the Hog’s Head. The Teufelstaten was far from his comfort zone when it came to work, but it would have to do.

“What’ll you have?” said the bored looking barman.

“A double Zaubermeister and a Doppelterärger,” Severus said. The barman nodded and made the drinks. Severus pushed the double over to Sir Alistair, who raised an eyebrow. “Come on, you need to try a proper German drink while you’re here.” 

“If you insist,” the Muggle said with a shrug, though Severus could tell that Sir Alistair would have questions later. It didn’t matter. 

“So,” he said to the barman, “have you been working here long?” The barman looked around as though searching for an excuse to abandon the conversation, but unfortunately Severus’s side of the bar was abandoned.

“Long enough,” the barman finally grunted.

“So you know - I mean I’ve  _ heard _ that there are ways to get certain items.” 

“Too chicken to brave the Dark Market in England?” the barman said with a slight sneer.

“Simply hoping for a less painful transaction,” Severus said airily. “You won’t believe the sort of hoops they make you jump through just for a substandard runestone.” The barman snorted.

“You’ll need the boss then,” he said.

“If you would be so kind,” Severus agreed. The barman disappeared through a door at the far end of the bar. In only a few moments, he reappeared, followed by a young man, no older than 25, with a half dozen piercings on one ear and a grubby black t-shirt for a band called Slime.

“Wer bist du?” the young man demanded.

“My name is Severus Snape, and this Gordon Stewart,” Severus said. 

“Ah, English,” the young man said, his voice heavily accented. “I am Christoph Rompe. Are you here for runestones?”

“Among other things,” Severus said. Rompe nodded eagerly.

“Yes, yes, we sell many things,” he said.

“I was thinking more in the vein of information,” Severus said. “Another friend of mine brought your bar to my attention.”

“Not the bad kind, I hope.”

“That depends,” Severus said. “What do you know about certain disappearances?” Rompe, who had been so strangely open, turned closed off and cold.

“Why do you want to know?” he said.

“You know where I’m from. You know what some of us lost in the last war.”

“So you want to mount a rescue?”

“I want to find out what’s going on, and you’re the one man I think can tell me.” Christoph Rompe considered him for a long moment, painted nails drumming nervously on the bar. Sir Alistair was also considering him, though with considerably more confusion. Severus just hoped that the Muggle would let him do his job without saying anything that would mark him as an outsider.

“What do you think you know?” the German said at last.

“Magicals are disappearing due to the same promises my former master made. Some are saying that those doing the disappearing are strange, even beyond Dark Magic.”

“Your sources are accurate, to a point,” Rompe said. “They don’t disappear completely, but when they come back- They’ve changed, Mr. Snape. I first saw it with the werewolves, but once I knew where to look…”

“How have they changed?”

“The first one was Old Uwe. He came in the day after full moon, when he should’ve been nursing his wounds. That’s when I started paying more attention.” Rompe leaned forward on the bar. “They’re more fearless. They ask questions, the kind that get strange looks. Questions about who’s got talent in the more obscure Magics, questions about powerful healing spells. It’s like - It’s almost as if someone’s disguised themselves as them, and then they have to learn some things from scratch. But I've checked for all kinds of mirages and disguises, and it doesn't seem like they're anything but flesh and blood. It isn’t right.”

“And when would these not-right individuals be present here?” said Severus.

“Evenings, about 6:30 on.”

“Thank you,” Severus said. He slid a few Galleons over the bar - far more than necessary to cover the two drinks - but Rompe shook his head.

“Keep it,” the younger man said. 

“I’m simply paying for my drinks.”

“Nobody’s cared about the strange things that have been going on. The Magischepolizisten don’t care about Dark Magicals and Dark creatures; the Dark sort don’t care about the undesirables. I thought I was the only one to care at all, but if the Death Eaters are taking an interest…”

“They aren’t,” Severus said bluntly. Shoring up the Death Eaters’ reputation would have been frowned on, at least by the government. He might have gotten away with it under Dumbledore, but the last thing he wanted was to be in hot water with the Aurors again. “I’ve taken an interest for my own reasons.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad that someone cares,” Rompe said. “I’ve tried, but I’m not that kind of wizard. I wouldn’t know what to do in a fight.”

“Well, your gossip reached my ears, at least,” Severus said. “Pat yourself on the back for that if you must.” Rompe snorted.

“I’m not that delusional,” he said, but he still pushed the Galleons back across the table. “Keep it. I don’t need your bribe. Just get them back here.” Severus responded with the only thing resembling a promise he could give.

“I'll do what I can.”

Sir Alistair was quiet as they made their way back to the Muggle hotel they were staying at. It wasn't the quiet of someone who was baffled by the Magical world or who was disgusted by the Dark and determined not to show it. No, Sir Alistair was deep in thought, so Severus decided to leave him to it.

"I believe I know what aliens have been recruiting here," the Muggle said as they entered the lift at the hotel. Severus hummed. “The kidnapping, the coming back wrong - it all fits the Zygons. I just don’t understand what their goal is in this.”

“World domination?”

“That is their usual MO,” said Sir Alistair. The lift doors opened, and Severus and Sir Alistair made their way to the room they had booked. “Still, something seems off. If they did want to take over the world, why on Earth would they be asking about healing spells of all things?”

“That is a good question,” Severus muttered as he unlocked the door. 

“Yes,” said an old Scot who seemed to somehow fill their entire hotel room, “I would very much like the answer to it myself.” Severus whipped out his wand and pointed at the man within a breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Who are you?” he barked. “What are you doing here?” Next to him, Sir Alistair sighed.

“Put your wand down, Snape,” he said. “I know exactly who he is.” He turned to the stranger. “Hello, Doctor. Fancy seeing you here. This means that our theory about the Zygons is correct, I suppose?” 

“In a rather complicated way, yes,” said the stranger. Now that Severus had a moment to take in the scene, it was obvious that the old man wasn’t a more prominent figure than was warranted. What Severus had originally perceived as the man taking up the entire room was really the domination of a large blue police telephone box, the kind that had been around when Severus was quite young but had disappeared by the time he started Hogwarts. The man himself, this Doctor, was actually rather ordinary. Tall and wiry, with a shock of white hair and hawk-like eyebrows. His clothing, on the other hand, was decidedly odd - a long velvet suit jacket over a hoodie over a ratty t-shirt, tartan trousers, and mud-encrusted Doc Martens. His pale eyes bore into Severus, and it made the hair on the back of the wizard’s neck stand on end.

“You may know this man, Sir Alistair,” said Severus, lowering his wand slightly, “but I don’t. Care to introduce us?”

“Right,” said Sir Alistair, a bit off-balance. Considering how many strange things he had seen over the course of this mission, Severus thought that was quite a feat. “Mr. Snape, this is UNIT’s former Scientific Advisor, the Doctor. Doctor, this is-”

“Severus Snape,” the Doctor said, and Severus had to suppress a shudder. “I know.”

“How?” Severus said, feeling rather lost. The Doctor gave him a thin smirk that was completely negated by the sorrow in his eyes.

“Spoilers,” he said. 

“I hope, Doctor, that you won’t be so evasive when it comes to our alien problem,” Sir Alistair said. 

“That is why I’m here,” said the Doctor. “And yes, Brigadier, they are Zygons.”

“Are they trying to poison the atmosphere again?” Sir Alistair said, sounding far too used to this sort of situation.

“Not exactly,” the Doctor said with a sigh. “If I’m not mistaken, things are going to get very complicated, very quickly.”

“I believe,” Severus said, “that you ought to start with some kind of explanation.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got tired of waiting to post this and decided to give you the last chapter today. Happy reading!

_ Dalek Emperor: What are you, Doctor? Coward or killer? _ __  
_ The Doctor: Coward. Any day. _ _  
_ _ \- The Ninth Doctor, " _ _ The Parting of the Ways"_

**17 June 1985, Teufelstaten Club, Magical Berlin**

When Severus Snape entered the Teufelstaten Club once again the next evening, he didn’t need Christoph Rompe’s meaningful nod to spot the disguised Zygon. The man sitting in the corner had no drink in front of him, no feigned interest in the witches and wizards swaying and bouncing on the dance floor. He sat with a strange sort of alertness, and when Severus caught his eye across the room the man held his gaze with a strange, inhuman steadiness. Severus picked his way through the crowded club and slid into the seat across from the man.

“You know,” he said, “if you want to pass for human, you aren’t doing a very good job of it.” The man’s lips morphed into a humorless smile.

“What makes you think I’m not human?” he said.

“I know more than most people here do,” Severus said. “I know where you’re from, I know something of what your goals might be. There are only a few things that don’t add up, and I hope that you’ll be willing to enlighten me.”

“What makes you think that I’d tell you anything, wizard?”

“Because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re in need of a Potions Master, and I’m one of the best there is.” The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Why should I believe you?” he said.

“For the past few years I’ve been in charge of stocking one of the largest Magical infirmaries in Britain. You’ve been asking after medical magic; I’m uniquely situated to help you. I only have one real question.” Severus leaned forward in his chair. “What medical emergency is so dire that you’ve turned to such drastic methods? What’s made you risk resorting to kidnapping and murder?”

“You do realize,” the man said after a long pause, “that you just signed your death sentence, human.”

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Severus said with a blitheness he didn’t feel. “Besides, I’m offering you my help here. Am I right in saying that you do need Magical help?” The disguised Zygon seemed torn.

“Fine,” he said. “I will speak with you, human, but not here.”

“Lead the way,” Severus said. He stood and then, as though the thought had just occurred to him, stuck out his hand. “Severus Snape, by the way.” The Zygon stared for a moment before shaking his hand doubtfully.

“Warrior Engineer Brevest of the Starship  _ Zygornia _ ,” the Zygon said. “If you betray us, we will bring the wrath of Kaatu upon you and your hatchlings until the end of time.”

**16 June 1985, Hotel Abweichungen, Berlin**

“You remember, Brigadier,” said the Doctor, “that the Zygons UNIT fought were refugees whose home planet was destroyed.”

“They were trying to poison the atmosphere,” Sir Alistair said, “but, yes, I take your point.”

“The war which destroyed Zygor went by many names,” the Doctor said. “Many smaller, three-dimensional species called it the War in Heaven. Higher forms referred to it as the Fracturing. For those of us who were involved it was simply the Time War - the Last Great Time War. The Unthreading of Zygor was one of the first major battles - a massive assault on the Web of Time that, in the end, changed history so that Zygor had never existed. The occupants of a small refugee fleet is all that remains of the Zygon species.”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” said Severus dryly, “but what does this have to do with these Zygons consorting with Dark Magicals?”

“I was there at the Unthreading of Zygor,” the Doctor said. “I made those alterations to the Web of Time; I pulled those threads. After that battle, I wondered how a refugee fleet could have survived the erasure of their entire planet from the timeline. I believe that they used the same threads I did to survive, the threads tying me back to Earth. Their arrival here was inevitable.”

“That may be so, but that doesn’t help us in dealing with them,” Severus said.

“In future a truce will be made. Unfortunately there’s little that  _ can _ be done until then,” said the Doctor.

“So, what, we’re supposed to let the bloody Zygons infest the Dark bits of the Magical world?” said Sir Alistair. “Surely it would be better to flush them out and get it over with. They could very easily become a problem far beyond a few disappeared werewolves.”

“Be careful, Brigadier,” the Doctor said, his voice low and dangerous. “The Zygons may have gotten off on the wrong foot with UNIT, but peace is possible.”

“At the moment, I don’t care whether peace is possible,” Sir Alistair said, sounding more the unflinching military man than ever. “I care whether  _ these _ Zygons have any intention of making peace probable.”

“If you go in guns blazing, there will be no chance of peace at all.”

“Not that this whole philosophical debate isn’t fascinating,” Severus said, “but the central question remains the same. We still don’t understand two central reasons for their actions: why they have chosen to target Magicals, and why they are asking about medical magic in particular.”

“I don’t know every detail, of course, but I believe I can make a guess,” the Doctor said. “In fleeing the Unthreading of Zygor, it’s possible that they sustained heavy casualties. There could be need for medicine beyond what ordinary humans can provide in this time period, and so naturally the Zygons would turn to magic. They wouldn’t understand, of course, that magic is not biological but a complex mixture of neurological and spiritual, and therefore it would be impossible to channel through their usual means.”

“But surely their shapeshifting is no more than a simple mirage?” Severus said.

“No, it’s far more fundamental,” the Doctor said. “Zygons are able to actually, literally change their biological structure to mimic other beings. If their abilities were analogous to your mirages, they would be relatively easy to discover for anyone with more advanced technology than two rocks being banged together.”

“Regardless,” Severus said, “if what they want is medical magic, then the easiest way to appease them and prevent a Dark uprising led by aliens would be to give it to them.”

“What, and have fully capable Zygons on our hands?” said Sir Alistair.

“It would be a risk,” the Doctor said, though he sounded far more neutral towards Severus’s suggestion.

“Even if they turn on us, treating them will at least give us a better understanding of their biology and their weaknesses,” Severus said with a shrug. “It’s a risk, I’ll grant you, but it’s a calculated risk.”

“And when you discover what they want beyond their immediate plans?” said Sir Alistair. “I doubt that they’ll be going from world domination to a picnic.”

“Sir Alistair, I have seen more of Dark Magic that a Muggle would care to conceptualize,” Severus said. “If you think that I can’t deal with a few aliens, then you’re more of a fool than I thought you were.”

“The question isn’t whether you can deal with the Zygons,” the Doctor said. “The question is whether you ought to be the one to deal with them.” Severus glared.

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, Doctor-” he began. The Doctor let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh, I know about you, Severus Snape,” the Doctor said. “I know your past, and I know your future, and I have no doubt that you’ll do what you feel is necessary.” Severus’s stomach clenched.

“I take it that my future is as Dark as my past, then,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I’m afraid that would be telling,” the Doctor said. “I do believe, however, that your method of dealing with the Zygons is the best we have at the moment.”

**17 June 1985, Berlin Sewers**

Severus followed Warrior Engineer Brevest down a crumbling stone staircase to the banks of the River Spree. They followed the river for maybe a quarter mile until they came to a large sewer outlet. Brevest pulled himself easily into the giant pipe. Severus struggled for a moment before Brevest pulled him up with one arm.

“Where are we going?” Severus asked.

“When the  _ Zygornia _ crashed, we needed a safe place to keep her until she could be healed,” Brevest said. “We managed to pilot her down this river and into the tunnels below this city.”

“You’ve been hiding in the sewers of Berlin,” Severus said. “That can’t have been pleasant.”

“It has not been hospitable,” Brevest said. “The food is poor and the accommodations damp. Fortunately the  _ Zygornia _ managed to protect the hatchlings and the Skarasen.”

“What is the Skarasen?”

“He is - I suppose you would call him our farm. We drink his milk to supplement the inferior food of your planet.”

“I see,” Severus said. “Who is it that you need me to treat?”

“Not who,” Brevest said. “We need you to treat  _ her _ .” They turned a corner, and Severus immediately saw what Brevest meant. The ship - it had to be the ship - was massive, taking up nearly the whole height and breadth of the massive sewer. It looked at least partially organic, with rough protrusions that seemed more like coral than any technology that Severus had ever seen.

“This is the  _ Zygornia _ ?” he said, though he didn’t really need the confirmation.

“Yes,” Brevest said. “Can you heal her, human?” Severus rubbed his temples against the headache he could already feel coming on.

“I’ve never seen anything remotely like this before,” he said, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

**18 June 1985, Hotel Abweichungen, Berlin**

When Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart woke up to find that Snape hadn’t returned the night before, he began to worry. When the Doctor seemed more interested in fiddling with a pair of sunglasses that were almost certainly augmented in some way than in whatever had happened to the extra-normal spy, Sir Alistair began to get rather annoyed. When morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned to evening with no sign of or word from Snape, Sir Alistair came to what he thought was the rather reasonable conclusion that they needed to take a more violent approach.

“Doctor,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Doctor, what reason do we have to think that the Zygons haven’t made a bodyprint of Snape already?”

“None whatsoever.” The Doctor put on the sunglasses, which made a buzzing sound, and then he took them off again and continued to fiddle. “I do, however, have a little more faith in him than you seem to.”

“You didn’t seem to have much faith in him two days ago.”

“That was a different matter entirely,” the Doctor said. Sir Alistair raised his eyebrows. “Severus Snape is quite an important character, far more important than I think even he knows.”

“What does this have to do with your questions about his ability to handle the Zygons?”

“I have a great deal of faith in his ability to handle the Zygons,” the Doctor said. “And I even trust his methods, up to a point. I do worry, however, that Severus Snape is a man too accustomed to facing hard choices.”

“Sounds like my kind of man,” Sir Alistair said. The Doctor shot him a slight grin.

“Sometimes being the one who has to make hard choices can blind you to the possibilities when the time comes for easier ones.” He paused in his tinkering. “You didn’t seem surprised when he mentioned his Dark past.”

“He’s a spy without delusions of grandeur,” Sir Alistair said. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He hesitated to continue, but curiosity eventually won over common sense. “Snape seemed less than pleased about the idea that his future may be Dark.”

“I can’t tell you much, Brigadier,” the Doctor said. “Or, rather, I  _ shouldn’t _ tell you much, but when have I ever done what I should?” 

“In my experience, almost never.”

“But it was always for the best.” The Doctor grinned, but the grin quickly turned terribly sorrowful. Sir Alistair couldn’t help but stare. He’d met so many versions of the Time Lord, but somehow this version of the Doctor seemed so much older and more burdened than the others he had fought alongside. 

“What can you tell me, Doctor?” Sir Alistair asked. “What have you seen?” The Doctor looked down and started fiddling with his sunglasses again.

“I’ve lived a long time, Brigadier,” he said. “I’ve seen and done many things, not all of them good. Severus Snape… He’s made his mistakes. He will make so many more.”

“You trust him with the Zygons.”

“No one is the sum of their errors.” 

“Can’t you tell me anything about his future?” Sir Alistair said. He didn’t know what precisely he wanted. Some confirmation that those mistakes Snape would make wouldn’t be of the world-ending sort, certainly. Some idea of what was burdening his friend, of course. He didn’t know what either of those answers would even consist of, though. He had never felt as though he was flying so blind, not even when he was going up against another unknown extraterrestrial with only his handgun and a Time Lord at his side.

“I don’t think you really want to hear that future,” the Doctor said, putting on his sunglasses once again. “We’re all stories in the end, and not all of them happy ones.”

**19 June 1985, The** **_Zygornia_ ** **, Berlin Sewers**

It had taken several trips up to Magical Berlin and a few on-the-fly modifications to powerful medical potions, but Severus thought that he was finally close to getting the  _ Zygornia _ back to her former health and glory. He had been watched by two disguised Zygons throughout the whole process, although they had seemed to relax slightly when his potions began to work their literal magic. He couldn’t blame them, really. It would have been ridiculously easy for him to poison their ship and strand them - or worse, for him to poison the Skarasen and condemn them to a slow and inevitable death.

He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of it. The Zygons had targeted the Magical world, and by all rights he should have been doing whatever it took to bury that secret. It was the safest decision, and no one would condemn him during the debrief, though Dumbledore might spare a moment for sorrow or disappointment.

Still, Severus did his level best to make the Starship  _ Zygornia _ spaceworthy again. It was only when his work was finished that he decided to do his due diligence and ask what the ship was going to be used for.

“I hope I don’t regret helping you,” Severus said after Brevest had inspected the  _ Zygornia _ and proclaimed her as healthy as she could be.

“We have no need for these bodyprints anymore,” Brevest said. “Your fellow humans will have their memories modified and their bodies released. All will continue as though we were never on your puny planet.”

“And where are you planning on going, if our planet is so puny?” Severus said. 

“There were other refugee ships sent up before Zygor was destroyed. We will go back and see if there’s anything left to save.”

“Not destroyed,” Severus said. Brevest glared at him. “The Doctor said that your planet was wiped from history, not destroyed.”

“If you know of the Time Lords and of Gallifrey, why have you healed the  _ Zygornia _ ?” he said. “Was this a trick?”

“It’s no trick,” Severus said quickly. “I wouldn’t hurt your ship like that even if I wanted to. I’m not that man.” Not anymore at least. Not while they were in the lull between wars and he could follow whatever conscience he had left.

“What did the Time Lord say about us?”

“Very little,” Severus said. “Well, very little that was useful. He didn’t bother telling me that your ships were half organic or that the humans you took weren’t dead.”

“That is the typical ego of a Time Lord. They all thought that because they could see where history would lead that they could decide which timelines were worthy of living on.”

“The Doctor, at least, doesn’t seem proud of what he did to your planet.”

“He was a Renegade,” Brevest said grudgingly. “He was more tolerable than most of his kind.” Severus was silent for a moment, playing with a loose thread of his robes.

“What are your plans if you can’t find other refugee ships?” he said at last.

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to know if I made the right decision in helping you. After all, I was sent to do what was necessary to prevent an alliance between aliens and Dark Magicals.”

“We don’t plan on coming back to this planet, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Brevest said. “Your world is small and primitive. There is nothing here to help us rebuild what was lost in the Time War.”

“I suppose that’s the best I could have hoped for.”

“Are you not satisfied?”

“I don’t have to worry about failing my mission,” Severus said. “I do hope that you don’t plan on hurting other worlds in attempting to replace your own.”

“We owe you nothing, human.”

“No, I suppose not.” Severus sighed and began to make his way out of the  _ Zygornia _ and into the massive sewer.

“Where are you going?” said Brevest. Severus turned.

“Back to my hotel first,” he said. “Then back to England, I suppose.”

“I thought that you would attempt to stop us, now that we have given you no promises.”

“It’s none of my business, not really,” Severus said. “And besides, it’s not as though I’m overburdened by choices. I have only three options really: strand you, kill you, or let you go. I can’t strand you on this planet while still completing my mission, and I have no desire to kill you. Maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but… well, the ball is in your court. You can make whatever decisions you like up there in the stars.” The Zygon stared at him.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Severus Snape,” Brevest said. 

“That’s alright,” Severus said. “I don’t know what to make of myself half the time either.”

“If we meet again and you are in need, the armies of Zygor will come to your aid,” said Brevest. “This is my word as Warrior Engineer.”

“I hope you never find yourself being held to that,” Severus said wryly. He turned his back to the Zygon and began his long trek through the sewers.

When Severus emerged from the Berlin sewers, the sun was just beginning to set. He fumbled through his robe pockets, looking for his cigarettes, but the pack seemed to have vanished. He jumped as a strange, loud whoosh seemed to echo across the river. The blue box that had been in his hotel room faded into existence on the riverbank. The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out.

“Well,” said the Doctor, “how did it go?”

“Their ship is fixed,” Severus said. “They’ll be leaving once they’ve freed the witches and wizards they stole their bodies from.”

“You decided to let them go.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” The Doctor didn’t answer him. Severus stooped down and picked up a flat river rock, tossing it into the water. “They won’t bother Earth at least. My mission was a success.”

“They didn’t make the best first impression on the Magical world,” the Doctor said.

“No,” said Severus, “but it’s not like they were trying to cause a Dark uprising or anything like that. They were just trying to heal their ship. If they menace another planet, that’s their business and not mine.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

“Well, what would you have done?” Severus snapped. “I really don’t see any better options.” The alien’s pale eyes blinked owlishly at him.

“Oh, you misunderstand me,” the Doctor said. “Your performance in this case was about as satisfactory as it gets. O for Outstanding.”

“Meaning there are other cases where I don’t perform to your satisfaction.”

“Well, I’m hardly the arbiter of all things right and wrong,” the Doctor said. 

“You seem to be acting like it at the moment.” Severus hesitated. “You said that you knew I would do what was necessary.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “I did say that.”

“Will I always be that way?” Severus asked.

“I’m afraid so,” said the Doctor. Severus stared across the River Spree and let out a deep sigh.

“I think I can live with that.”


End file.
